And FH muses over footballers’ weddings-plural
This weekend lots of ladies with Ronseal cleavages, plastic French manicures, hair that came from Russian orphans and funny non-London accents I only ever hear in the Big Brother house all get married to famouses who kick balls around for a living.
I can hardly bear the tension as we all wait to see the beautiful diamond tiaras worn by
vulgar, common lapdancers blushing virginal brides as they wait to get taken up the aisle.
How we’ll cheer as we see the groom in his Shane Ritchie frock coat and gold cumerbund. How we’ll smile as we see their children, Mulberry and Juicy Couture, prostituting their little souls for Hello pictures. And how we’ll snigger as some common nana type in lilac goes up to a famous and starts a punch-up by trying to take their photo. Hurrah for famouses and their hopelessly common weddings!